


Vos

by charivari



Series: DJD Deadlock [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: AU Deadlock is a member of the DJD, Deadlock is Vos, Hinted obsession, Kidnapping, Poor Ratchet, Reference to brainwashing/conditioning, Self-Inflicted Injury, Unstable Drift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 06:07:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4210899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charivari/pseuds/charivari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the same AU as Designation. The DJD needs a medic. So Vos (formerly Deadlock) decides to kidnap Ratchet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vos

If Ratchet had to use one word to describe his current situation, it would be ridiculous. Others may have used disturbing. But Ratchet was sticking with ridiculous.

It was ridiculous that he had been captured by a member of the Deception Justice Division – code name Vos – and bought aboard the DJD’s ship.

He wasn’t a rogue Decepticon or anyone the likes of the DJD might be interested in. 

The fact Vos’ comrades looked less than pleased to see him indicated that his kidnapping hadn’t been an order.

“Why did you bring him here?” a mech wearing a Decepticon insignia mask – likely the DJD’s leader – demanded.

“He’s a medic,” Vos explained, “I thought he might be useful to us.”

“He’s an Autobot,” Con-mask pointed to Ratchet’s badge, “This is a serious security violation.” 

“I can remedy that,” a big mech with an X on his face cracked his knuckles.

Ratchet might have said something if not for the gag. Due his restraints he could barely shift away from the feral-looking turbofox tugging on his leash. 

"We do business with Pharma," Vos pointed out, "He's an Autobot."

Pharma? 

Ratchet couldn’t believe it. He strained against his cuffs. The turbofox let out an impatient snarl.

"Easy boy," his blind master crooned.

"Pharma is not one of our crew," Con-mask growled, "You would have this Autobot live among us?"

"Tarn none of us have extensive medical training," Vos said, "Isn't it better to have someone fully qualified to treat us if something goes wrong?"

Tarn folded his arms,

"And you think this should fall to an Autobot?"

"Not just any Autobot. This is Ratchet. His reputation exceeds Pharma's."

"That does not change his affiliation," Tarn eyed the glaring medic, "From the looks of it he shares my reluctance."

"I can persuade him," Vos spoke with certainty.

"How do you know he's any good?" X-face muttered. 

Vos didn't answer. He drove the knife he was holding into his arm. There was the crackle of circuitry being severed.

"Holy slag," the mech with two sets of arms uttered.

Vos turned to Ratchet, knife still embedded.

"Fix me."

Ratchet should have refused. The mech was obviously mad. But it was hard to refuse with his companions threatening him with gruesome death. Ratchet had to survive. Find some way to escape. 

So he fixed Vos – as best he could with the tools he found in the DJD’s med bay.

Tarn scrutinized the work once he had finished.

“Impressive.”

The compliment might have meant more if it hadn’t come from the leader of the DJD. Ratchet still couldn’t speak in any case. They had removed the cuffs, so he could operate on Vos, but left his gag.

“So he can stay?” Vos asked Tarn.

He had remained oddly calm throughout the whole procedure. Ratchet realized he had re-routed his nervecircuits prior to stabbing himself. Not that it would have made a difference if Ratchet hadn’t been able to fix him. 

“That fact remains he’s still an Autobot,” Tarn told Vos, “We cannot ensure his loyalty. If I was feeling generous we’d make a pit stop in Delphi, leave him with Pharma to deal with. But as it were we cannot deter from our current course less we lose Black Shadow’s trail.” 

“You can’t kill him,” Vos protested, “He’s useful Tarn.”

Ratchet was struck by the plea in Vos’ voice. Tarn's response, by contrast, was unmistakably threatening.

"Are you giving me orders Vos?"

Vos ducked his head,

"No Sir," he said quietly, "I just want what's best for the team. That means someone to keep us alive."

Tarn eyed Vos a moment, expression inscrutable behind his mask.

Finally he ex-vented, 

“He’s on probation until we deal with Black Shadow,” he said, “But I’m not promising anything. If he steps out of line, he’s dead. End of discussion. I’ll try to salvage his T-cog as best I can without Pharma’s expertise.”

Ratchet’s processor was spinning. Pharma. T-cog. Black Shadow. Probation.

“He’s your Pet now Vos,” Tarn said, “Make sure he doesn’t cause any trouble.”

“Yes Tarn,” Vos was smiling.

Tarn made to leave,

“And don't think your little demonstration has gotten you out of punishment,” he said as he went, “I expect you in my office, as soon as you have put your Pet in his cage.” 

Vos frowned as he slipped off the operating berth,

“He’ll probably make me clean inside Helex’s smelter again.”

Then he did another stupid thing – removing Ratchet’s gag.

"That was an idiotic thing to do!" Ratchet sounded if he was chastising a youngster, not a member of the DJD, "What if I couldn't repair the damage?"

"I had no choice," Vos was solemn-faced, “Tarn would have let the others kill you."

He smiled, flexing his arm,

"Besides I knew it wouldn't be a problem for you."

"And how would you know that, Con?" Ratchet demanded.

It didn’t make sense. Vos made it sound as though he knew him. The shape of the helm had a faint familiarity. 

Ratchet was hit with recognition.

"Wait, I remember you! From the Dead End. Orion bought you in.”

The mech’s paint job had changed considerably. His frame was black with purple and gold highlights and scarlet optics. Not to mention the Decepticon brand.

But it was definitely the addict he had saved. What was his name? 

“Drift,” Ratchet said.

Vos’ smile vanished. 

"My name is Vos,” he growled.

"I don't care what your code name is,” Ratchet scoffed, “You're Drift."

"My name is Vos!" Drift snarled.

He looked almost feral. Ratchet was silent. Obviously this was some kind of brainwashing or conditioning. He knew better than to argue. Not when Drift - Vos – had shown no hesitation driving a knife into his own arm.

“Alright Vos,” he put up his hands in a peaceful gesture.

Drift – Ratchet decided he was not calling him Vos in his head - seemed to calm down.

“Listen,” Ratchet took advantage of his attention, “I may have patched you up. But I can’t be a medic for the DJD. See Autobot.”

He tapped his insignia. 

“You being a fan of my work, that’s great. But this isn’t where I’m supposed to be. I’d appreciate if you took me back to where you found me.”

It was a shot in the dark. Ratchet knew that. Drift at least appeared to contemplate the request before shaking his helm.

“I can’t do that.”

Ratchet wasn’t surprised. But he wasn’t about to fake joy either.

“Can’t?” he glared, “Or won’t?” 

“Both,” Drift admitted, “Come, you can stay in my quarters while I see Tarn.”

He reached for Ratchet but the medic jerked back,

“You mean lock me in your quarters.”

“For your own good,” Drift insisted, “It’s not safe leaving you around the others. I’ll protect you. But you have to behave.”

“Behave?” Ratchet growled, “I’m not a pet.”

Drift put his hands on his finials and wrenched them in a rather agitated manner,

“We don’t have time for this. Tarn doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Before Ratchet could retort Drift launched forward and grabbed his arm. He was strong, dragging the resistant medic out of the med bay, down a passage to a hab suite. VOS was painted on the door, in what looked suspiciously like dried energon. 

A shiver passed over Ratchet’s frame. 

“The previous Vos wrote that,” Drift’s statement startled him. 

It was almost as though he had read his processor. But then Ratchet realized Drift must have simply caught him staring at the letters.

“The previous Vos?” he said.

Drift seemed to flinch, as though he regretted giving Ratchet that information. He punched in the access code and forced the medic through the door.

“Stay here.”

The door closed and Ratchet heard Drift entering the locking sequence. 

"When I said you were special, I didn’t mean this!"

Drift didn’t answer. Ratchet heard his retreating footsteps and suddenly he was alone.

Alone on the DJD’s ship, somewhere in space, on the path towards their next victim.

Alone in the quarters of a brainwashed and unstable mech Ratchet had once saved expecting he would take steps towards a better life.

On second thought, disturbing was starting to seem more appropriate right about now.


End file.
